


Not. Fair.

by Unforth



Series: Tumblr Ficlets: Other Fandoms [10]
Category: Oathtakers series - Nina Waters
Genre: Bondage, Bottom Yermolai, Canon Compliant, Canon Insert, Dom/sub Undertones, I mean, I'm Nina Waters, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex, So it's really just flat out canon, Top Gregory, Voyeurism, Yermolai Takes Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 07:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15214571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: Yermolai is sick of Gregory not listening to him, so he ties him up until he listens.Set at an indefinite period between the first and second books.





	Not. Fair.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jhoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/gifts).



> If you're wondering who these people are - Nina Waters is my pen name, hi, how ya doin', and these are characters from my original work, A Glimmer of Hope. While it's technically the first book of a series, it can absolutely be read as a stand alone. If you want to learn more about my original work, check me out on [Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7106869.Nina_Waters)!

Sunlight glinted warm off Gregory’s face and he grumbled under his breath. Regardless of what the actual time was, it was too early, and he didn’t want to be awake yet. Reaching out for a pillow to shove over his face, he rolled onto his side.

He  _ tried  _ to reach out for a pillow. He  _ tried  _ to roll onto his side. 

He couldn’t move.

A wave of panic evaporated his sleepiness. His eyes flew open as he tried to jerk upright, straining against restraints at his ankles and wrists.

“Yermolai, I--”

A hand on his chest caught him and nudged him down, a gentle suggestion rather than a hard push. Yermolai stood over him, beaming a mischievous, sheepish smile. 

“Calmly, solnyshko moyo,” he said.

“What’s going on?” Seeing Yermolai healthy and standing before him soothed his concerns, but didn’t dissipate them completely. There was too much history between them, too much danger that Yermolai’s mind might not be his own, however little Gregory wanted to believe it. He scanned down Yermolai’s height, searching for hints - a pleased expression on his face, loose tunic shirt swaying with his breaths, prosthetic leg on, jeans painted to his thighs, and…

...yeah, definitely an erection.

“Yermolai?”

“I didn’t mean to alarm you,” said Yermolai. “It seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“ _ What  _ seemed like a good idea?”

“Tying you to the bed.”

“If you wanted to have sex, you could have just  _ asked _ ,” Gregory grumbled.

“I want to have sex.” Yermolai’s smile was the damn  _ definition  _ of sublime. Gregory wanted to be ticked, but Yermolai was too gorgeous for him to stay mad. “But I don’t want  _ you  _ to have sex.” Gregory blinked his confusion. “Just...something I’ve wanted to try.” Yermolai shrugged. “You’re so...resilient...I wanted to put it to the test.”

“Meaning?”

Yermolai hummed a non committal answer, unzipped his fly, and pulled his dick out. Catching his lip between his teeth, Gregory stared, mesmerized, as Yermolai cupped his length and gently stroked himself. 

“I used to watch you,” Yermolai murmured. His eyes slipped shut, his head fell back, his chest rose and fell more rapidly, and Gregory was entranced. “When you were naked, when you thought you were alone, when you didn’t give a damn that you weren’t alone...I’d watch and think and touch myself just like this…” A breathy sound leaked from Yermolai and Gregory couldn’t help but echo it. His view down the length of his body was obscured by the blankets over him, but the feeling coursing through him was unmistakable, the shift of the sheets was unmistakable, as Gregory hardened. He itched to touch, to soothe, to comfort, to wrap his lips around Yermolai’s perfect cock and suck him down, to bask in every perfect sound that leaked from his love. No dice, though. Whatever ropes bound him were strong enough that Gregory couldn’t tug them free - Yermolai lifted his head and opened an eye long enough to smirk and wink when he realized Gregory was trying - and all Gregory could do was watch.

“Wanted you so badly,” Yermolai moaned, stroking himself more rapidly. 

A soft  _ swish-swish-swish  _ accompanied each passage of palm over dick and drove Gregory crazy. He squirmed against the bed, desperate for any touch, even the meager brush of blanket over his chest and cock. 

“None of that,” admonished Yermolai. He took his hand from himself, leaving his erection sticking straight out obscenely, and tossed the blankets off Gregory.

Gregory was pretty damn sure he hadn’t been naked when he’d gone to sleep.

There was no thinking about how Yermolai stripped him without waking him, not when Yermolai stepped back once more, took himself in hand once more, stroked once more, groaned deep and rough once more.

“So many times I wanted to tell you - you’re gorgeous, you’re brilliant, you’re wonderful, I love you - but I could say nothing, I could share nothing, I could only…” Yermolai’s breath hitched on a whimper, his shoulders hunched, and come splashed over his hand and dribbled to the floor. “I could only watch. You’ve said many times - far too many times, you’ve got to stop - that you should have acted sooner. Fine, then. Here’s your punishment, and let this be an end to it. I watched you, now you get to watch me.” Mesmerized, Gregory watched Yermolai lift his hand and lick the come off his fingers, eyes alight, lips spread in a leer. “I’ll be back in a bit.” The hand trailed back down, tucked Yermolai’s erection back into his pants, and Yermolai turned and opened the door.

“Wait!”

Yermolai didn’t even hesitate before leaving.

With a sad moan, Gregory sank back against the bed. His body was hot over, the sunlight still in his eyes, his cock neglected. A soft breeze through the open window stirred the hairs feathered over his chest and chilled the single drop of early release that beaded over the thick head of his dick. Experimentally, he tugged at the ropes again, but there was minimal give - just enough for him to test the lead, not even enough to get the momentum to make a serious attempt at snapping them - and with the angles involved, he could barely twist himself to see where the cord wrapped around him. 

He might as well try to relax.

Yermolai would come back for him.

Eventually.

* * *

“You seem to have behaved thus far,” said Yermolai, surveying Gregory with a pleased nod. “I was worried you’d break the bed.”

“Yermolai…”

“No whining. You’re better than that.”

“But…!”

Yermolai put a finger over Gregory’s lips to silence him and carefully positioned himself on the bed, manipulating his prosthetic by hand until he straddled Gregory. The loose shirt was gone, exposing the musculature of Yermolai’s chest, an ideal to make Michelangelo  _ weep _ over his inability to reproduce those curves in marble. Gregory wasn’t too far from weeping himself. He wanted to touch, wanted to kiss, wanted to suck the taut, dark nipples and, and, and...and he couldn’t  _ move _ , damn it.

“Just watch,” murmured Yermolai.

There was no small talk this time as Yermolai stroked himself, no praise, no promises. Yermolai made soft, pleased noises, using his thumb to tease at his tip, using his off-hand to fondle his balls, his fingers twisting and squeezing and brushing as he stroked himself. He hovered over Gregory - and Gregory appreciated  _ exactly  _ how much extra effort that was, how much strain it put on the stump of Yermolai’s leg - close enough that Gregory could feel his heat, far enough that he might as well have been in Siam for all that Gregory could actually touch him. Gregory’s cock, thick and uncut, bucked upwards as if seeking contact, but there was none to be had. Anything for a touch, anything for a kiss, anything for Yermolai to stop teasing him...

“Please…” he whispered.

Yermolai groaned and came, streaking semen over Gregory’s belly.

“Later, solnyshko moyo,” he murmured, tumbling to his side on the bed, jostling Gregory but not touching him. “Later.”

And, damn him, he left again.

* * *

Gregory’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Yermolai was so close and so damn  _ far _ . After so long without him - decades, years, months, hours - Gregory had to touch him, but couldn’t. The rope bit into his wrists as he strained, pain sparking outward, and Gregory knew he should stop, knew he couldn’t escape, but he couldn’t help himself. 

He.

Needed.

Yermolai.

“ _ Please _ , mein liebster!” he pleaded. 

“Yes,” Yermolai crowed, trembling as he stroked himself. “Tell me...tell me how much you…you need me...you  _ need _ me, right?”

Gregory goggled. After  _ everything _ , Yermolai still doubted the fidelity, the longevity, the magnitude of Gregory’s devotion?

There weren’t enough words in Gregory’s vocabulary, weren’t enough words in German, English, Welsh, Latin, any of the living or dead languages Gregory spoke, to express himself.

Yermolai wasn’t the only person Gregory had ever loved. There had been others in the past. 

But there would never be anyone else ever again.

“To the stars, Yermolai - forever, no matter what, however you’ll have me, I’m  _ yours _ .” Gregory scrambled for more to say, adoring the slackened, pleasured,  _ relieved _ look on Yermolai’s face. “Your body…” What could Gregory say about Yermolai’s gorgeous form that wasn’t hackneyed, that he hadn’t said before? “Your  _ spirit _ , brave and loyal and true, sweet and...and...perfect--”

“No!” Yermolai gasped, head snapping up. He teetered, losing his balance, hunched over himself and breathing hard. “Never...never that, solnyshko moyo, please…”

“Perfect for  _ me _ ,” Gregory finished. 

“Even that…”

“You’re what I need - who I need.”

Yermolai moaned softly, relaxing into stroking himself once more. Dried come flaked off Gregory’s stomach as his breathing grew more rapid. Damn his inability to express himself well. There was so much in his head, and so little he could actually  _ say _ . Yermolai deserved to  _ know _ ….

“I love you.”

“Gregor…”

“I love you, Yermolai.”

“Gregor!”

“I. Love. You.”

With a groan, Yermolai came, collapsing to his knees beside the bed.

Endless seconds stretched out, Yermolai leaning an arm against the bed, head resting on it. Gregory watched him, hot and hopeful and hard, still hard.

“Please?” he asked finally, breaking the silence.

Yermolai shook his head and rose unsteadily to his feet. Disappointment clenched Gregory’s chest and he couldn’t restrain a needy whimper. His dick ached, untouched, erect. Knowing that Yermolai was enjoying this game was nice, was amazing, but desperation made Gregory feel like if he could claw his way out of his skin, he would.

His voice broke as he repeated, “Please!” Yermolai shook his head again, turned, and left.

A sob burst from Gregory. Tears leaking from his eyes, pooling in his ears, he thrust back against the bed, but the stimulation was hopelessly inadequate. Unable to keep still, unable to wait any longer, he writhed and twisted and fought his ropes but there was no escape.

Gregory cried, and waited, and hoped. As long as he had Yermolai, hope still remained, for life and happiness and all that life offered - and for an orgasm sometime this century.

* * *

Vision fuzzing in and out of focus, Gregory struggled to watch Yermolai as he stripped, taunting with the removal of each layer. A growl hummed through him, his cock leaking. He’d been hard for hours, hard since the last time Yermolai had come. His joints ached from his struggles. His wrists and ankles burned where the rope had bitten into him. Frustration and desperation had him straining still. Something in the bed cracked, Yermolai looked up, startled, but Gregory wasn’t able to win free and Yermolai smiled.

“Soon.”

The promise was meaningless.

Gregory  _ had  _ to touch Yermolai.

With a roar, Gregory launched himself from the mattress. The ropes caught, held, tore into his skin, and Gregory fell back with a whimper, chest heaving. 

Yermolai didn’t even  _ look  _ at him!

“Yermolai!”

That got Yermolai’s attention; he looked up, hands freezing half-way through undoing his belt, and shook his head. “Abbey enchanted those ropes, solnyshko moyo. You’re not breaking out of them.”

“I never you knew you were such a...such a...such a Arschgeige,” he snarled.

Yermolai chuckled, unperturbed, and shook his head again. Dark hair brushed over his forehead and ears. His brown eyes sparkled. The muscles of his chest flexed with every movement.

Gregory wanted to  _ devour  _ him.

“Not quite yet,” said Yermolai thoughtfully.

And he left.

_ Again _ .

Gregory shouted a string of increasingly garbled curses in every language he knew. His passion needed an outlet,  _ any  _ outlet, and at least swearing gave him something to do other than think about his dick.

* * *

“Gregor…” Yermolai whispered sweet in his ear.

It wasn’t real, Gregory didn’t think. The room was dark, night long since fallen, his stomach hollow, and only magic kept the bed from being disgusting with filth. He was exhausted, yet still horny, still needy. He’d imagined Yermolai’s return so many times only to find himself still alone. A forlorn sigh escaped him. He didn’t think he’d ever sustained an erection for so long in his life.

Fingers brushed over his wrist.

Gregory held his breath.

Touch landed on his other wrist.

The ropes fell away.

_ It’s not real...it’s not real...it’s not real… _

“Solnyshko moyo...I’m sorry...perhaps I carried this too far...tell me you’re alright…”

_...it is so. damn. real. _

Gregory snarled, grabbing blindly in the air, intercepting Yermolai as surely as if he could see. His ankles were still bound but it didn’t matter; he had Yermolai now, and there was no way he was letting go. Surging up, he pivoted, throwing Yermolai to the bed. The ropes tangled Gregory’s legs but he had momentum and partial freedom; one of the bed posts snapped with a crackle of splintering wood. Yermolai was beneath him, skin rubbing on skin, cock knocking bluntly on cock. Gregory buried his nose in Yermolai’s neck, nipping at his skin, breathing in the musky scent of his cologne.

“...hate you sometimes…” he murmured. “...such a tease…”

Red marks dotted Yermolai’s neckline as Gregory licked up to his face. Their hips rutted together; Gregory was dizzy with the thought of being inside Yermolai, but--

_ \--no, have to be careful, have to be gentle, can’t risk hurting him, mustn’t-- _

“Gregor.” Yermolai’s voice was husky, needy, beautiful. “Fuck me.”

White noise blanked out his inner reservations.

Gregory came back to himself thrusting, glorious pressure hot and constant around his dick. Yermolai moaned beneath him, leg wrapped around Gregory’s hips, urging him  _ faster, harder, more, more, more _ , and Gregory obeyed.

“Like that, perfect, so good, please…” Yermolai babbled, switching between English, Russian, and German with equal facility.

“How could…” Gregory grunted, the darkened room flashing bright. He shifted his hips, shifted his shoulders, rolled Yermolai’s legs farther up and buried himself deeper into Yermolai’s tightness. “How could you  _ do  _ this...yours, Yermolai, I’m  _ yours _ , always been  _ yours, _ yours, yours, do anything for you--”

“Except this!” Yermolai gasped.

Gregory froze.

“No,” Yermolai moaned, squirming under him. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“Mein liebling…”

Yermolai’s hips worked up from the bed, taking Gregory in over and over, and he dropped his sweaty forehead to Yermolai’s chest. “Don’t stop, Gregor. I know you worry...but I  _ need  _ this, need you  _ desperate _ , all of this...today was for  _ this _ …”

“But I can’t…”

Hands cupped Gregory’s cheeks, drew him up into a soft kiss. “Yes, you can. Let go, Gregor.”

_ Anything for you… _

And Gregory let himself go.

There was no thought, no restraint, no worry. There was no dwelling on the past, no reminders to take things slow, no fear of triggers. There was just Gregory, groaning and thrusting and feeling, and Yermolai, gasping bliss, meeting every thrust, raking nails down Gregory’s back, urging him with every word and movement to give everything he had.

_...anything… _

“Let  _ go _ .”

Gregory shattered, tears leaking from his eyes as he spilled inside Yermolai. Yermolai clenched and kept thrusting, milking him, working him through it, and his hips jerked hard with each movement. Fumbling, he reached between their bodies and stroked Yermolai’s cock, hard yet soft in his grip, until Yermolai sobbed and came as well.

They collapsed together, Gregory’s knee twisting as he tumbled over - one ankle was still bound, he’d forgotten. Laying side by side, breathing hard, Gregory took Yermolai’s hand and threaded their fingers together. The silence was comfortable, safe, with Yermolai glowing beside him. Exhaustion washed over Gregory in dazed waves, aches softened by satisfaction. He felt...he felt  _ really  _ good. The wait had been tortuous but the pay off…

...he hadn’t realized how much like work sex with Yermolai had become until he had it forced on him how good sex was when it  _ wasn’t  _ work. He was always so worried, so tentative, soft and gentle even when he craved to go hard without restraint.

He’d thought that was what Yermolai wanted.

Apparently not.

Apparently Yermolai had felt the need to  _ tie him up  _ for the day instead of just...talking to him.

“We suck at communication,” he muttered. Yermolai chuckled and squeezed his hand. “Was that...that was what you wanted, mein liebling?”

“Yes, Gregor.”

“Next time...maybe just tell me?”

“I tried. You don’t  _ listen _ , solnyshko moyo.”

Gregory sighed, rolled onto his side and snuggled close to Yermolai’s side. “I’ll try to do better.”

Yermolai curled over, wiggling until they were skin to skin with Gregory wrapped around his back. “I know you’ll try.”

_ I’ll try… _

“I love you…”

“Always, solnyshko moyo. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...I probably should have edited this. Oh well.


End file.
